


Hot for you

by haematicMagic



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Heat Stroke, M/M, Oneshot, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, lemonade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:04:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haematicMagic/pseuds/haematicMagic
Summary: Crowley, the dumbass, decides to drink his feelings for his angelic buddy away and then opts to take a quick nap on the roof. Little does he know that his human form can actually get sunburn and a heatstroke, something he doesnt realize since.. snake. Plus, the alcohole does the rest and so Arziraphale hs to swoop in to save the day





	Hot for you

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while having a heatstroke so it's entirely based on personal experience, not logic. Enjoy!

Crowley awoke with the burning sensation of a massive hangover. 

He groaned and lifted himself up, examining the world around him. He was on the roof of his apartment complex, the bottles of various kinds of alcohol scattered around him. It was the early evening; he had seemingly slept away the day. He groaned and held his head. His skin felt dry, scaly and hot, not uncommon for someone who once was a snake but very much uncommon for a human body. His head felt like someone was washing his hair with holy water. Under Pressure, he joked to himself. 

He got up, his bones aching.

Looking around, he found that the bottles were empty and that there were some black feathers scattered about. Apparently, he forgot to sober up again after drinking to silence his yearning heart, earning him this headache. He didn’t bother picking up the trash, he would care about that later. The fact that his sight was constantly getting fuzzy and that he felt nauseous and delirious worried him. He basically fell down the stairs to his apartment, fumbled with the keys, half propped up against the door and got in 10 agonizing minutes later. He made it into his bathroom, vomited and collapsed onto the cold tiles, it felt so good, the cold. He wondered what was wrong, for this was not just a hangover. 

He felt shaky and sick and he couldn’t think straight. He heard his phone ringing and tried to ignore it, for he just wanted to sleep, roll up into a ball and sleep, but he couldn’t. The noise was loud and obnoxious, almost mocking to him. He only knew one person that would call that long and that person gave him the power to get up and pick up the phone on his desk. He raised it to his ear and wanted to answer with a casual “Angel? What’s up?” but instead, all he managed was a sad croak:

“Ach?”

The Voice on the other side sounded concerned, as he always was.

“Crowley? Is that you? Are you alright?”

He tried to clear his voice, which resulted in coughing and his dry serpent tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Crowley just nor realized that he was shaking. He tried to calm himself, which resulted in a cramp in his leg. He sweared, creakingly.

“Crowley? What’s the matter? You sound – Well, terrible. Are you hurt? Sick? Shall I come over?”

Now, finally he could muster an answer, his throat hurting as he spoke.

“No… Ugh, what’s the matter?” 

His voice sounded like someone was grating marble in a well.

“Crowley, dear Lord! What happened? OK, I’m coming over!”

Aziraphale sounded positively mad, but mad of worry, which would have made Crowley smile, had it not hurt his mouth. He forced himself to answer.

“No, don’t. I’m fine, I just fell asleep on the roof.”

“Did you spend your whole day like that”

“Err, yes?”

“No wonder, you… you idiot! I’m coming, give me twenty minutes. Go lie down, you dumb Demon!”

Aziraphale sounded personally offended like Crowley had kicked his dog. Crowley gave in, hung up after assuring Aziraphale that he would not die while the Angel was on the way and hung up. He dropped on his bed and listened to the sound of his blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his plants shaking their leaves in a mix of concern and relief. Then, the black engulfed him.

His feverish dreams were endless, tedious and upsetting, as they involved a certain angel dying in various situations, some strange memories from his past and a particularly weird section in which they both rented a cottage and lived happily like- no, as an old couple. Wish fulfillment, probably.  
He was awoken by that same angel, bent over him, examining him. Crowley opened his eyes, made a face and waved his hands, signaling the Angel to get out of his face.

“You got nothing better to do than stare at me, Angel?”

“Oh, contain your crankiness, your old serpent. I wasn’t staring at you; I was looking at your skin. You have a massive sunburn; you’re dehydrated and maybe even have a heat stroke.”

Aziraphale tried his best to not look hurt at Crowley’s rudeness, but his Eyes were glistening with worry. One of the most adorable features about him was exactly that, the care he put in everything, from his books to his friend. It really showed his love to everything surrounding him, even if the love directed at Crowley was probably platonic, as Crowley kept telling himself.

“Ah, ph. I’m fine.”

Aziraphale pulled a wet towel from somewhere and placed it on Crowley’s Head. It sizzled, because, as Demons go, Crowley was quite literally burning up in fever.

“Crowley you literally passed out on your roof, slept the whole day through and now you are trying to convince me that you’re fine? Oh, don’t you dare get up!”

Crowley stopped, startled. The Angel actually sounded quite intimidating and had immediately seen through the Demons weak effort to get up. Crowley sighed and at least sat upright on his bed. He noticed that the buttons of his shirt had been opened but didn’t mention it.  
Erziraphale placed a tray on the bed and sat down Infront of Crowley. 

On the Tray, there was a Jug with something that looked suspiciously like self-made lemonade, some picture-perfect pieces of watermelon, a thermometer and some more wet towels. Suddenly, Crowley felt surprisingly thirsty as if the sight of the drink had only just reminded him of the fact that he could, in fact, drink. The nausea from before the nap had cleared and so he ravaged the watermelon, encouraged by his angel and, as his voice got better and better, in light chatter.  
After a while, Aziraphale put the tray beside the bed, changed Crowley’s Towel and let the Demon take his temperature. It read a slight raise, even still, which was weird to Crowley as he felt colder and more chilled by the minute. As they had spoken, the delirious and anxious feeling had come back, and he felt strangely emotional. After all that, Aziraphale got up, wearing the gentle smile that Crowley was used to.

“Well, you seem quite alright. You’re still a bit feverish, so you need rest. Please try to sleep, alright? I’ll go read something.”

Crowley damned himself for the strange feeling that overcame him would later blame it on the fever, but as he saw the angel get up and turn around, he knew only one thing. He didn’t want him to leave. Choking for words he reached a weak arm out to him and, after swallowing heavily, spit out;

“Wait, err… Could… Could you watch me? I am uncertain if I can sleep and what if I… uhm… passed out again, hm?”

Aziraphale turned around, looking almost… relived. He sat back down at Crowley’s Bed, flattening the covers and nodding gently.

“Of course. I’ll stay until you’ve fallen asleep.”

Crowley nodded, satisfied and slid down into a lying position. He closed his eyes, curled up to the side and before he quite realized it, he had fallen asleep. A few minutes later, he half-awoke from his slumber to find a snoring body – the body of a certain angel – curled around him, spooning as the humans called it. He smiled and slid right back into his dream, a dream that seemed pale in comparison to the personal heaven that was his life right now.


End file.
